Abscondita Est Memoriae
by dragonwriter1911o1
Summary: They barely wanted to be put in a room together, let alone have to learn each other's deepest emotions. One hot day in Italy, the nations get trapped in a room with a big book and a wake up call. What will happen after no one has anywhere to hide when confronted with their past and secrets? Only one thing is for sure, it won't be the same afterwords.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: **Did it even get this hot in Italy in April?**

* * *

There was a fire somewhere. There had to be to produce this sort of heat.

England sat sideways, discreetly fanning himself with his very official and important government papers. Today he didn't even have the time to comment on the wall color, the least of his worries and a dull, horrid shade of violet. Frankly speaking, he wasn't really thinking anything at all for he never could have imaged it could get this hot in Europe, let alone Italy. His head felt like mush, jumbled, unfocused, and just hot. Perspiration dripped from his forehead and his thick suit stuck uncomfortably to his body.

The reason for being in the insufferable weather in Italy was another UN meeting, though the number of countries present didn't exceed 20 because the others had declined the optional invitation. How lucky they all were. England swore he was starting to see heat waves dancing in front of his eyes, creating ripples across the windows and people in front of him. The ticking of the clock behind seemed to amplify all the noise and motion and heat. His enorm -normal- sized eyebrows started to furrow; annoyance building. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out anything and everything, happy place, happy place… but to his right, America was practically bouncing, tapping his fingers repeatedly on the oak table, each thrum hitting down like thunder. France to the left was sipping on an afternoon drink leisurely while humming.

And he hated it all. It was too hot,

America's tapping was incessant, someone - probably Turkey? Wait, he wasn't even present - just kept droning on, and France... well France was surely doing something wrong. Why was there even a bloody meeting today? They had just had one at least a month ago, updates and such, and nothing had happened to call for this.

He swiveled his head to the side, away from the sun peeking in through a window. His hand on the papers sped up to create a real breeze and he didn't bothering trying to hide his irritation or the fan anymore. Steadily, his arm went faster, faster, faster, cooler - and then black spots appeared in the corners of his eyes just before taking him over.

Nations all around dropped, one by one, to the carpet. Once the last dropped, a tie between America and Russia, they all suddenly sat back up. The common reaction was a massage to the head, easing the headache that had sunken in. China and some others groaned in discomfort, breaking the silence and allowing for the complaints to start.

"What just happened? How?!"

"Italy, what are you trying-"

"Back-a the fuck away from mi fratello!"

"Silence!" Germany quieted the crowd in seconds, who had less fear and more curiosity to the country at his side. Italy beside him was holding what seemed like a very, very heavy book. It held numerous pages in the soft leather binding, filled almost as gigantic as the cover itself, and had latches on its spine and front. Heavy brass created a mechanism to keep it shut, taking up a narrow third of the open end. He looked at the red book and started smoothing it, tracing letters with his fingers.

"Abscondita... est.. memoriae?" Seeming bewildered, he placed it on the table, creating a bang as it met the sleek surface. Everyone flinched.

"Hidden memories? What's that mean," The Italian nodded to America words just as he said them, confirming the translation and showing his confusion also on the subject. With a sinking feeling, the rest of the world knew this was going to be an... interesting meeting.

And a lot longer than expected.

* * *

 _Mi Fratello_ (Italian) - My brother

 _Abscondita est memoriae_ (Latin) - Hidden memories

* * *

Just another angsty secrets/headcanons fic

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter

 _Italics_ \- Different language or thinking or emphasis (why are italics so useful?)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: **Who opened it?**

* * *

It would be a lie if Italy said he wasn't nervous. Really, when had he ever not been at least a little nervous in his life.

The book was… unnerving. Giant book appearing out of nowhere? Not the oddest thing he had seen, but definitely a first. The fainting… somewhat abnormal because everyone had and not just France or himself... France always went down first and alone, mainly thanks to England. And the book's title…

He had seen many books, but this one seemed special. Latin was easy to understand, grandpa Rome had spoke it, but it was like the three words each held their own unique meaning. But as to what that meaning was, it might as well have been written in an unknown language, because he had no idea. He found it haunting.

The whole room kept just staring at it, but he was really, really trying not to look at the book. Ever since he had held it, and also when it had appeared, a chill ran down his whole body. Just remembering left him in a cold sweat. The metal shined with an ominous glint, of something cold and honest, of something he definitely needed to run from. The red leather was worn to the point of flaking, appearing scaly and demonic. Scary, raccapricciante, terrificato.

He looked to Germany, only to find his reliable ally closing and opening his mouth like some gaping fish. Not reassuring at all.

"A-a-ah, Germany? What do we-a do?" Italy asked. The German looked bewildered, a blizzard of emotions passing on his face before settling on something like the calm after the storm he bet.

Or the calm before.

Holding his chin and stoic again, he looked around the room. "Yes, yes, very good question Italy. Now, I think, if you are all okay v'i'z it, I v'ill call my boss and have him come here to inspect _it_ -" America shot up.

"Nah man, I say we totally open it!" The blond started towards the book, unrestrained by caution or countries. Most were too stunned to stop him. Some were scared. Without hesitation, he placed his fingers on the cover, a light touch to the leather and clasp, a click- and the lights went out.

"Geez, Ancient China over here is going to have a heart attack!" Someone shouted.

"What you say about me, aru?!"

"Oi! You git! What the bloody hell are you doing? Stop for a moment and just take a guess on who's fault this all is and-"

"Mon ami, I believe that is enough. Petite amerique could not have known how terrible his decision-making skills are. Instead, could someone turn on les lumieres." Prussia was over flicking on the lights, expression smirking. The reason why was unknown.

America pouted, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. "Hey guys! I knew what I was doing, I mean, I am the hero!"

"Not that again, can't you just stop already-"

Wait.

"-Which daft imbecile opened it?"

"Opened what?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about the bloody giant open novel on the table!" With a sharp intake throughout the crowd, all the countries unconsciously backed away.

The walls were still purple. There was still only about 20 countries. It was still a meeting.

But something had changed, and it was all because of the damn book.

* * *

Sorry if some words are wrong, I use google translate

 _Raccapricciante, terrificato_ (Italian) - Creepy, terrifying

 _Mon ami_ (French) - My friend

 _Les lumières_ (French) - The lights


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: **Trapped with a haunted book**

* * *

"So, who did it amigos?" Spain said. China scoffed at him, asking himself, who in their right mind would profess to opening the book. The action was akin to saying they had gone against the will of the countries and disregarded any hope of trying to solve their dilemma. Stupid Westerners.

"It was America of course! The imbecile was the one who opened the clasp and started the downhill motion of this whole meeting!" England supplied, crossing his arms. His reply immediately gained large support. America himself was left indignant.

"Whattaya mean man? I barely touched the book before it got itself all jacked up and open," he defended. Most found the comment as useless as Spain's.

"Books don't just open by themselves Meigou. Really, you and Spain, so immature with your reasoning. If you want, I sell you the Art of War. It a strategy book and can really help you. Only 50 dollars for-"

"Stop trying to sell anyz'ing! Z'is is a very serious matter. Now that the book is opened, it is essential to stay calm and focused." Germany said. While China was still a bit irritated at being reprimanded by someone much younger, said country swept his gaze over the nations. "Now, since it is clear v'e v'ill be taking care of z'is ourselves, I suggest taking your seats." In response to Germany's suggestion, everyone took their seats, ones closest to the book attempting to move away. In an instant, all the tall wheeled office seats were pushed in a huddle on the other side of the room against the wall. He sighed. Prussia came up behind him and placed his hand on Germany's shoulder.

"Chill West, I'm sure everyz'ing v'ill v'ork out fine," Prussia, smiling, reassured his brother. Keeping his hand there, he turned to look heatedly at the book. Only a few countries dared to do that. China was one that matched his intensity, along with several older or bolder nations. Germany brushed him off and clapped his own hands together loudly.

"Yes, v'ell, now since v'e are situated." He coughed and waited for the room to listen and hopefully move their chairs forward, both in futility. "Does anyone have any idea's as to v'hat is happening?" Italy waved his hand high animatedly. Germany sighed and resigned himself to asking, "Germany recognizes his friend Italy."

"Ve~, maybe it is a book of-a pasta recipes for all of us to share!" The room simultaneously groaned. Germany's headache started.

"What-a shitty fucking pasta cookbook appears out of-a the fucking middle of nowhere dumbass!" Romano countered back, making Italy shrink.

"Ah, Romano, don't be so harsh with your hermano, si?" Spain said, getting out of his chair to stand by the two Italian brothers.

"Why you goddamn bastardo! You can't-a fucking tell me what I can and can't do! Don't give me any of that crappy advice." The two started off, Romano swearing profusely while Spain took it all happily while trying to calm him. France stood up next.

"Excusez-moi, but I believe z'at is enough flirting my friends," he said and delivered a wink to Spain, making Romano go red. It could have been out of embarrassment or anger. "Let us get back on z'e track. Now, I have to I ask, just how did an objet maudit like this come to be in our midst anyway? Did anyone bring it here? I find it hard to be believe it could just _appear_." That question was enough to make everyone's head hurt. No one had brought it themselves, and no one was sure who _hadn't_ brought it.

"It could be magic," Norway in the very back bluntly said. Everyone was a little surprised at his intervention and words. England, aware Norway was a man of few words, attached great importance to this theory.

"So it really is…," England remarked. He had suspected magic after America had mentioned the book opening by itself, not that he believed the git. That world also explain the sudden fainting and black out and appearance of the damned thing. Most countries looked around skeptically. Most were now attempting to call their bosses without attracting attention. They got no service.

"What, so we've got a freaky spell book on our hands? Is really this your doing Nor?! Please tell me it's not!" Denmark shouted, gripping his friend's shoulders. Norway very swiftly smacked his head in irritation, sending him to the floor in front of him. None of the Nordics made a motion to help him, the antics too normal. Other nations were more concerned but held back for fear of getting on Norway's bad side. Anyway, none of them could believe something like magic could be at all possible.

"Um, excuse me, but I think it could be a...," Japan's eyes flashed sharply towards Canada before he could finish. The man seemingly looked right through the blond, at the spot he was sitting in and not realizing he was actually there.

"So the supernaturar is here. I must begin pranning my exorcism formations before too rong…," America and Poland, sitting nearby shrieked after hearing him say that. Canada shook his head in frustration. America immediately sprinted away from the spot and started pacing.

"No way am I stayin' in a room with ghosts! I'm off to Mickey D's or something guys. I'll see ya later, good luck!" America was just on his way through the door when Germany finally had had enough. He slammed his hands down and glared intimidatingly at everyone. Poland gave another small scream.

"Z'at is it! Everyone take your seats and put z'em properly around z'e table! No one is leaving until z'is is settled!" Grumbling, America took his seat from lack of better reason not to, reasoning that the hero was needed and he could stay a little longer. The rest of the nations soon after followed him towards their respective seats. "Since no'zing is getting done, I v'ill take charge, okay?" No one raised any objections. "First, v'e v'ill begin by checking attendance to make sure no v'one has left." Everyone nodded compliantly this time, putting down their phones in reluctance. The turnout out came to be in the form of a list. It read the names,

Germany

Prussia

Italy

Romano

Japan

America

England

China

Russia

France

Spain

Norway

Denmark

Sweden

Finland

Iceland

Belarus

Lithuania

Poland

Hungary

Austria

A total of 22 countries were now stuck in a room with an apparently haunted book and a furious German.

* * *

 _Amigos_ (Spanish) - Friends

 _Meigou_ (Chinese) - America

 _Hermano_ (Spanish) - Brother

 _Objet maudit_ (French) - Cursed item

* * *

This chapter was kind of a filler to help you learn who was present in the room

I've got nothing better to do, so if you're following the story, I'll be updating a whole bunch today

Art of War by Sun Tzu is one of the Seven Military Classics from China, encompassing a variety of strategies that of which have been applied form business to actual warfare even today


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: **Who knows Latin?**

* * *

The room was not at an impasse. The majority wanted to sit there and wait until the original meeting time to end, go home, and forget any of this ever happened. But the rest, the few who were curious or crazy enough, were insistent on finding out this mystery. On the minority side, Russia was the former (and the latter if you asked anyone else). He was not afraid of the supernatural, nor was he afraid of anything else the stupid book had to bring. Now, no doubt he thought, this had to be resolved.

"Comrades, I say we just read the book, da?" he said. The room exploded. Some people brashly tried to go at Russia, inching closer before processing who had just spoken, and then inching back. He smiled, and then the words got quieter before finally stopping altogether. "I shall take that as a yes then. Good choice comrades." And simple as that, he walked the length of the table, because he was seated at the opposite end, and dared anyone to stop him.

No one even attempted.

He looked disappointedly at America, who though a bit apprehensive after the mention of ghosts, had not stepped up. He saw there was no reason from him to though, the American was looking at the book in absolute wonder and seemed quite excited for the whole meeting to really finally begin. Making it to the stupid book, Russia grabbed it, heard the first gasp, and turned to the page.

Peeking over, Hungary's nose scrunched up. "What kind of book is this?" she said. The first page held nothing but a signatures, all in different languages. At first, Russia brushed it off as well as nothing important, but soon found his own name right in the middle. It wasn't hard to figure out who the rest belonged to.

"Well, what's in it asshole?" Romano asked, quite politely compared to his usual manner of speaking. Russia shook his head and flipped to the next page. The indifference made Romano clench his fist. On the next two pages, there were no more signatures. Instead, neat words clearly lined the bulk of the paper. Unluckily, it wasn't in Russian, English, or anything else he could read. Before he disregarded the book and passed it onto someone else, he managed to notice in small letters, the word "gentem".

"Does anyone here know Latin?" he asked. Confusion immediately spread. Most countries had come into contact with Latin before, but now it was a dying language and most had decided to drop it for something more useful. Countries like Spain and France's languages were similar, but they weren't confident or involved enough to speak up. The Italian brothers didn't hesitate to volunteer first though, having been raised by Ancient Rome and in the heart of the Latin language, they knew it closely. Quickly rising, they traded places with Russia, who sat in Italy's seat a few over from the book to the right. Romano ignored him out of annoyance and focused. Italy, despite the fact he had volunteered, did not want to get involved with the book though. Shaking a bit, he tried to come up with a way to get out of it…

"Ve~ America, you know Latin, right?" America made a sort of choked noise, surprised. Most countries were just as taken aback. He slowly spoke,

"Yeah I know a little from my comic books if that counts!" This made a few countries ashamed he even mentioned knowing any of the ancient language. He rubbed his neck and gave a dazzling smile, clearly trying to play this off. Taking no notice of the atmosphere and unanimous decision that America should not be taken seriously, Italy continued cheerily.

"Sure! You even knew those words earlier, so everything in the book should be easy for you," Italy countered, making America sigh in resignation. Curiosity outweighing any sort of con, he slid out of his chair.

"The hero always tries his best! You can come take my chair then Italy," he said, neither country noticing the disgruntled expressions of those at the table. Getting to the front, Romano just focused harder on the book.

"Chigi." Both nations looked intently. Romano read it fluently and fast, America a bit behind but steady. Romano was surprised seeing America keep pace. Seeing his questioning look, America just said,

"Science," and expected it to be easy to understand. Almost no one understood how Latin had anything to do with science, and even those who did never thought it could give a stable understanding of a whole language. But it was put out of their minds as both went back to reading and stop at the bottom. There was maddening silence following.

"V'hat does it say z'en!" Prussia finally yelled, much to the relief of everyone else. Romano and America looked at each other.

"You can do it bastard," Romano said. He had only wanted to read it first, opting for no speaking. America shrugged and started,

"The first page, to sum it up, pretty much explains this thing is some real heebie-jeebies type stuff."

"So it is magic!"

"No! It's just… anyway! This was done by some of the Ancients like Rome, Britannia, and Germania for the sake of… peace I guess?" He paused, looking over the next sentence and mulling over what words to choose. "I dunno what that means, but I guess we'll get the picture when we start reading, right?" Most of the nations looked less than pleased. Some, like Italy, Prussia, and England, were nervous. Italy was getting fidgety and Prussia had grown much, much quieter than he ever was.

"That sounds very simple for so many words, correct, comrade? I think you should tell us the truth, da." Russia didn't mean it as a question and smiled at America, not caring if he opposed him or not. Romano intervened before anything had a chance to occur,

"That-a really is pretty much what it fucking says bastard." Russia backed down and America smiled at the gesture.

"Then let us find out what this is all about. Start reading," he replied. Undisturbed, they turned the page, finding to their shock that the next page was in English.

"I'll read first I guess then," America said.

* * *

 _Gentem_ (Latin) - Nation


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: **Who is Canada?**

* * *

"Canada is as strong as America, yours truly, and able to match him in ferocity during their yearly hockey matches," America finished with a grin, leaving the room silent. Canada grew a little embarrassed and sunk back a bit, though no one had noticed him. Suddenly, Romano shouted,

"Who the fuck is Canada?" and America fell down. On his knees, he started laughing hysterically, clutching his stomach. No longer anything but fed up, Canada shot up and slammed the table with his fist, slightly damaging it to prove point. Half the countries jumped, making America laugh harder.

"Nante kotoda," Japan said. "I sincerery aporogize Canada," Japan said and bowed. This calmed him down, he started waving his hands dismissively.

"It's fine Japan, it's not just you anyway… it's normal," he sighed. Watching America wipe tears from his eyes, his rage came back full force, and proceeded to storm over and punch him. The world super power landed hard on the wood floor much to all the nations' horror.

"What the hell was that for Mattie! Come on, did you see Japan's face? Hey, hey, did anyone get a picture of it?" America said, trying to ignore the throbbing from his face and brother. Canada gave up and helped him onto his feet apologetically. America turned to him and gave a cheeky smile after getting back onto his feet. "Guess you're startin' hockey early this year, huh. Got room for one more on the team?" and pointed to himself. Canada couldn't help but melt.

"I guess so," he said and grinned back, not noticing the guilt and distress directed towards him in America's eyes. Or the envy.

"So your human name is Mattie, Canada?" Spain asked. He squinted a bit at the country. Human names were intimate for them, asking for it felt weird and almost invasive. Canada didn't mind too much though. As long they knew and didn't him Mattie of course. To clear up the misconception, Canada started,

"Uh, actually, it's Matthew-"

"So, Canada's name is Mattie?" Italy put in happily.

"No it really isn't. My name is Matthew-."

"I always forget the lad, but of course I already knew his name was Mattie!" England said proudly. France interjected saying,

"Quel menteur Angleterre! Of course, my Mattie I never could forget. But you are-" Tired of being noticed for the one thing he had not wanted, Canada had to cut in.

"MY NAME IS MATTHEW." Canada finally exclaimed exasperatedly, tired of having been forgotten at the wrong time.

"Oh yes, that's right. But lad, why does Alfred call you that? I swear when you were younger you were named Mattie," England rebutted, refusing to name himself wrong. America helpfully came in at that moment.

"I'm the only one allowed to call Mattie, Mattie, 'kay guys?" The room didn't mind abiding by that fact and quickly forgot about the Canadian, having been dismissed. "Anyway, since we're gettin' so personal, and since you already know Mattie's, I say we all use our human names then. To make it fair." For the millionth time today, the nations were shocked.

"V'hat do you _mean_? I know noz'ing about you people," Austria said, representing the main emotion running through the crowd. America interrupted before anyone could say anything more.

"My name's Alfred F. Jones! Canada's is Matthew Williams! England's is Arthur Kirkland! France's is Francis Bonnefoy! Russia's is-."

"I suggest you do not finish that comrade."

"And you should not have told ours either you twat!" After a bit of grumbling, the countries relented and the whole name ordeal was finally accepted.

And with a more intimate feeling throughout the room, the real reading started.

* * *

 _Nante kotoda_ (Japanese) - Oh my gosh

* * *

Haha, this is more like a teaser, sorry guys

If anyone was worried, there will be no pairings. Or at least none explicitly stated; feel free how to interpret how you want

By the way, this is my own conception of the countries or how they would react, so unless you feel a character is truly out of character with all of your being, try not to make any rude comments. Criticism is accepted, blind harshness is not

And thanks for all the nice reviews so far too

Look forward to more reading


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: **Hand it over**

* * *

America - no, Alfred - flipped to a random page, never liking to be confined by a set way, even when reading. He shifted with a grin after seeing more English. Not reading beforehand, he hurried out, "During the time of settlers and new worlds, America was still very much…" He gulped and surveyed the rest of the nations. Most were completely uninterested. Others, mainly ones who had explored the land, like Spain or Finland, grew distantly attentive. Altogether, it wasn't like anyone was listening. Italy could even have been making pasta for all anyone cared. "And when," he stopped finally. "You know what, I'll just skip this one dudes, it's not that important anyway."

"What do you bloody well mean by that?! If it's in the bloody book I assume it _has_ to important, you wanker," England interjected. He was probably the only one at all interested at the moment. Figured. Others, sensing conflict, entertainment, looked up.

"Really, no big deal guys! I say we just move on and-"

"Oh, Fedya is scared, da?"

"What?! No way ya commie! The hero is never scared! And who said you could give me a nickname?"

"Just read the arse of a book! Or I will take it upon me too." Arthur started for the book, shoving office chairs out of the way or wheeling people in them across the room. Finally reaching the tip of the very long oval table, his black boots fell silent on the carpet, stopping completely beside Alfred. The room was quiet, but this time, listening. "Now hand it here lad, seems as though you just are not mature enough to handle it. I shall be taking that now." Saying that, he actually held both hands out, gesturing for the book. Alfred grabbed it up, shutting it hard and cradling it tight.

"No way old man," he said with a playful glare. Everyone stood still.

But before long, Arthur lunged. At the same time, Ivan had knocked into Elizaveta, sending her into Alfred, and Arthur hit the floor where he formerly was. All the while, the very large, leather book was tumbling to the floor in a an open mess. But there was no sound.

And with another familiar, and terrible flash, everything disappeared to black.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. America?"

"I told you to call me Alfred, bro!"

"Yes. Well, Mr. Alfred, what exactly did you just do?" Toris, had brought up an interesting point.

Because, as of now, the nations stood in the middle of a dancing field of tall grass. Alfred scratched the back of his head.

"Shit."

* * *

Seems too short and like a filler to be true, huh

Well sorry everybody, seems I haven't been, and might not be, posting regularly

And just when all the angst and heartbreak and secrets were coming out

Anyone who has a head canon or secret or certain situation they want to be reacted to, feel free to comment about it


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: **Italy fights?**

* * *

Alfred was not the one cussing.

"Lovino, _mi tomate_ , do you know where we are?" Antonio said, giving the land the were in a once-over before facing the Italian beside him.

The grass was just brushing up to the beach, so close that if you took one more step you would be on soft, white sand. It had just turned night, so the water was green-black and the stars were out sneaking out. Waves lapped gently and took more gray sand with them as they echoed against the coast.

Lovino did not answer. Instead, he crept around the bushes and shrubs on the other side of the grass and started climbing up a stone wall just behind. There was a long curving road just above them at the top of it, the shore ran alongside underneath it.

"Ve~ Lovino! Where are you going _fratello_?" Veneziano asked nervously and scurried to follow him. The whole place seemed strangely close and like home and not even a bit pleasant to him. Ludwig chased after the two Italians as they finished the climb.

"Now, Italy, I do not z'ink it is v'ise to v'ander off in who knows v'here…," he said, then made it up and over the wall himself, coming out on the road with the other nations close behind. They shortly joined them at the top, stopping to admire in horror.

It was clear now that it should have been possible to hear the distant bangs and steady whirring of treads from the shore, but the waves must have been too loud. Up close, you could hear the dull, melancholy mix of fireworks and footsteps running over gravel. There was a city before them; pitch black outlines in the dead of night. Smoke rose and sparks flung across red flashes through the sky in splatters behind them.

" _Lovino_ ," Antonio said again, more desperate and forceful. "Where are we?" his words were fast, and seemed more like Spanish because of the fact. He thought that must have been the reason Lovino wasn't answering. He started again, "Lovino-"

"Immature…" Yao mumbled, interrupting Antonio by saying, "He hears you, aru. Can you not guess what is happening here, _Spain_?" As if to assist his argument, another blast went off and the sky to their left lit like it had suddenly turned to morning. Matthew gasped, Ludwig not too far behind and grinding his teeth.

This kind of scenery was not new to any of them. They had stepped into a battlefield.

"Do not tell me z'is is." The German started, scornful and disbelieving. He did not intend to finish his sentence and had even grown angry. No time was left for the German to bombard the group with complaints or criticism, for without warning, Lovino's solitary figure took off, into the black outlines of crumbling buildings and the haze of smoke.

Only Matthew, Antonio, and Veneziano ran after him. Leaving behind a frenzied shout of, "What is going on!" A very good question indeed, one that implied a great many things.

What is going on with Lovino?

What are we going to do?

And most importantly,

 _What is going on here?_

Lovino's chest felt like fire. His throat throbbed like a balloon does when you're pinching it and accidentally let only a bit of the air out. That's how breathing felt like. Labored and scorching and tight and like he was underneath that pitch-black water and would never make it out. He felt his feet moving distantly before his brain started before together words sensible.

Running through these buildings was worse than anything he could have imagined. Piles of gray rocks and white bodies were stacked on either side of the streets horrendously. To his left there was a smashed tank. It was missing part of the front and still warm.

The whole place was familiar. In the way that the place you broke your leg was. Only, it would be if that broken leg made you taste copper and not only see just blurs but _feel_ like a blur. Numb because everything going through your mind just equates to pain and whiteness and static _._ Right now, his mind felt just that way.

Even so, if you were to see how Lovino ran, you could see he still had enough clarity to have a specific destination in mind.

There was a twist up a hill -

\- and more dark red, black in the dark, pools.

A veer to the right past a chipped corner shop -

\- as well as bullet shells and broken glass.

Finally, his feet stopped pounding, his heart, unfortunately not even attempting to try to do so. He had reached the end of the road. There was a church ahead. Half of it was gone and you could see the inside of the intricate dome on the top. A broken statue of Jesus on the cross lay with the other half of the dome and debris below. In the midst of it all was a single silhouette.

Before him was a scene that still played in his mind at every mention of the _asse_ or _guerra_ or _Ortona._

Just at that moment, a bullet swiped through a window in the dark, and into the arms of a mother and her child.

The first time Lovino had to witness this, he was leagues more composed. This time, there was little shock and physical pain to tell him less what was before him and more of what that numbness felt like. His knees buckled. They landed hard into the stone, along with the woman's body. She was still cradling her baby.

Behind him, the trio that had barely managed to keep track of him, stood heaving just as they came around the corner.

Back with the rest of the nations, Berwald frowned. He was gazing at the sky, the stars, the residue haze from explosions, and saw the plane.

" _Gr'm'n b'm'r's_ ," he stated simply, stoically. Ivan nodded and looked into the city landscape, as if held the answers to where they were or about Lovino.

"Little Stalingrad," he whispered, to no one but himself.

"Lovi! What are you-a doing? We have to run. _Dai_!" Lovino ignored his brother, silently debating whether to question why or how Veneziano had the courage to follow him into something like a battlefield or still stay there weeping. Antonio was walking towards him. Matthew's head spun viciously in circles, tracing invisible patterns between and buildings and wincing. He was first to notice the bodies and the fresh inky pools surrounding them. Even in the dead of night, you could tell his face turned paler.

The circles he was making with his head turned to a sudden jerking side to side motion. He soon grew frantic and pivoted away without anyone knowing he was there, leaving behind only an inaudible, "I'm so sorry."

Veneziano had timidly accompanied Antonio at his brother's side. They had moved him out of the open, where the four bodies were out in the open and backed up against three closed sides, and inside a broken building (though, really, what building wasn't broken?). They kept shaking him and shaking him. Grabbing his shoulders and yelling over the noise of tank and gun fire. Nearby, a bullet grazed a building and sent plaster into the road across from them.

"Ve~ why is this-a is so scary! Fine _fratello_! I'm going to go back to Ludwig! He always knows what to do when I'm in trouble." And Veneziano was just about to break off into one of his inhuman sprints when Lovino's head shot up faster than any kind of ammo. It was the pull of the trigger on a shotgun after a heavy reload.

"What do you mean you're going back to that bastard?" he growled. While there were no lights, you could tell his eyes with red and thin, puffy from crying and slitted from glaring. Just as alarmingly he stood up. "This _purgatorio_ was because of that no good _stronzo. He_ can just go back to playing with machine guns and potatoes for all the fucks I give! Stay away from that bastard!" His hands fell back to his sides from their previous enraged positions.

Italy stopped and stared. "What are you saying? He has been nothing but good to us. Especially that time when I was captured. Whenever I've been in trouble I could always count on him to help! He gave me good food and pretty girls and-"

"The whole fucking world knows that!" Lovino interjected. "That alone you can't do anything without him! And to top it off, you think of nothing but to keep dragging your ass along with his messes because he _helps_ you! Do you think I ever wanted _this inferno_ outside." He was standing by the doorway, pointing through it, completely black against the light from outside; unreadable. Every now and then there was a booming or a glint of something moving and sharp.

Tears gathered in Veneziano's eyes, "I just wanted to help him! He's done so much of me and… when the war came I thought it could be my chance. To help him and us. I even tried to train soldiers and design cars and everything!" shifting from foot to foot, he didn't make any motion or sound to imply Lovino was right. Antonio looked on confused and not picking up on the unsaid topic of discussion.

"But you didn't think for one shitty minute how it would affect us! _Me_. Always dragging me below you. In this war, in the economy, even with Grandpa Rome!"

"I did it so that Germany wouldn't end up like Rome." Veneziano said delicately in defense.

For a long time, no one moved. Like they thought the war happening right outside would end if they all just kept breathing. A strained intake broke the silence and their even breathing.

"Not only do I have a good for nothing _fratello_ who acts like a loyal _cane_ for a filthy German bastard, but I," his voice dropped soft. "I can't even save one lousy _bella."_ Lovino was done now, tired of this despairing and frustrated feeling the memories this war, any war, his brother, brought him. He sighed and gave up. "I'm leaving," he said plainly, and left, without another word. The Spaniard watched him leave. He left Veneziano and Antonio sliding to the ground.

Was it the nightmare playing out in front of him? Or the words from his thoughtless brother? Loving didn't know why he snapped, but it felt good and fresh. Like slamming a door and hearing it jolt off the hinges and snap into place. As satisfying as falling into a cool lake on a hot day.

If anything, he knew he no longer felt like he couldn't breathe. He felt free.

* * *

 _Mi tomate_ (Spanish) - My tomato

 _Fratello_ (Italian) - Brother

 _Asse_ or _guerra_ or _Ortona_ (Italian) - Axis or war or Ortona

 _Ge'an bo'e's_ (Swedish accent) - German bombers

 _Dai_ (Italian) - Come on

 _Purgatorio_ (Italian) - Purgatory

 _Stronzo_ (Italian) - Asshole

 _Inferno_ (Italian) - Hell

 _Cane_ (Italian) - Mutt

 _Bella_ (Italian) - Girl

* * *

Sorry for the lame updating and boring fillers everybody, university has been pretty hard on my schedule

Anyway, this was the first little history reaction, featuring Romano's reaction to entering another world war, as requested

If you're curious, it takes place during the Battle of Ortona (WWII), in Southern Italy

Even though it was between the Germans and the Canadians, it was on Southern Italian soil many were killed and injured on all sides. Its nickname was "Little Stalingrad" and the Canadians ended up winning, leading the Allies to take over Southern Italy and more


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: **Dark Blood**

* * *

Loving had joined the rest of the group back at the road like nothing had ever happened.

Antonio and Veneziano came back looking like they had just fought in the war.

No words were exchanged when either rejoined the nations. Even Ivan didn't comment when Lovino started sniffling in-between blasts. Or Francis as Antonio purposely put as much space as he could between himself and Lovino. Nor Germany from Italy's odd independence from himself.

They all just stood together, close and cold, watching the indigo sky light up.

And then morning broke, and the silence just as well.

"So…," Gilbert started. "Anyone know what we do from here?" A blanket of exhaustion smothered the group. They were stuck who knows where, who knows when, with not even a phone. Not to mention no sleep, and yet no one wanted to even attempt changing their dismal conditions.

"I guess we, like, look for food or somewhere to stay?" Feliks offered, dismissing the question of where they were as unimportant and accepting the fact they were now in a foreign place entirely, easily. No one was really disgruntled by his mindset, having already adapted to the situation as well. And tired, so tired.

Ludwig decided to ascertain his position as a somewhat unofficial leader by dishing out tasks. A few to find safe shelter. Others to determine food. Some to scope out the area cautiously.

Lovino's voice came down with the force and crash of a wave, ruining their plains yet again. Since Ludwig was already feeling intolerable in this place, he let him.

"We're in Ortona," he said. It made no difference to most.

"What of it, wanker, and why didn't you tell use in the first place!" Arthur shouted. He dragged his hands down his face out of exasperation.

"Battle of Ortona, Little Stalingrad, Italy, _1943_." He supplied to add more weight. It worked.

"Oh," the British man lamely replied. Him, and really everyone, looked to Veneziano and Lovino with varying levels of pity now, quarreling internally how to approach the situation. Every one of them had their superfluous share of war. And down to the core of every one of them, they knew not even a nation got out of a war untouched. Nor unscarred. So they gave the two space and shifted from foot to foot in an uncomfortable battle of whether to comfort them or maintain that space. Some grew annoyed at the giant step backward they had taken.

Tired of the consideration, and scarily calm, Lovino made his way down the wall and back they way they came in the sand. He stopped at the waters edge. The sand sunk his expensive shoes into their damp clutches while the breeze took ghostly pulls at his hair, releasing only when strands fell back into place from a conflicting tug. Veneziano sent a glance to the group and then went to follow him.

With them gone, the group was know at an awkward impasse.

"Well, now what do we do?"

The Italians sat at a minimum of ten feet apart, but it wasn't quiet for long.

"Hey, Lovi?"

"Hm."

"Do you hate me?" Veneziano asked. Lovino turned his head to his brother, and then back intently at the waves. This time, there was nothing to mistake as an answer. Tears clung to the younger's eyes like glass. They would not fall.

Another wave hit the shore and Veneziano moved up a couple steps from the water. Lovino didn't move. Instead he kept staring and scowled at the water, even when his expression was deep and eyes black like the inky pools of blood he saw. In the dark, he noticed, everything could be mistaken for the color of blood.

" _Ti odio_ ," he said, shattering Veneziano tears, allowing them to fall silently while Veneziano stifled his whimpers. But Lovino didn't stop there. "I hate how you're-a _così assente mentalità_ or can't read any fucking atmosphere. How you only-a care about _pasta e ragazzas e ti stesso_. How you trust _Germano_ bastards more than your own _fratello_. How everyone just loves you so, _so_ much because you-a can do _niente_ and aren't any shitty threat. Do you even understand?" he yelled. "How you hate me! And how _everyone_ hates me!" Lovino heaved out with an unreadable silhouette. His words were indescribably bitter and flowed along slow and thick like honey. They seeped into Veneziano's head and wrapped tight around, swirling in a circle, in repeat. Every syllable was layered with his monologue from earlier and overlapping in thoughts. Veneziano was lost.

For words, understanding, a response.

Loving kept his distance. No more words came from him. Luckily, he thought. By nature, he was a coward through and through. Right now, it only confirmed it. He would stick to what he knew best; running away.

"But that's okay," Lovino finished with no room for discussion. Now he was shaking, not that Veneziano could tell, and clutching at the falling rocks that were his crumbling walls and strength. "That's okay," he repeated.

His words repeated in Veneziano's head like a broken record. A song filled with hate and contempt and regret.

And in his own. A song of unsaid words, contempt, and an ever falling feeling. Or a flying feeling?

Lovino had always known his brother was inconsiderate. North Italy dragged his southern neighbor behind through his thorny wake without a second thought.

He had always known that.

The night ended with a sardonic smile, and simultaneously, every nation fell. Their eyes filled with the sight of dark, midnight colored blood.

* * *

 _Ti odio_ (Italian) - I hate you

 _Così assente mentalità_ (Italian) _-_ So absentminded

 _Pasta e ragazzas e ti stesso_ (Italian) - Pasta and girls and yourself

 _Fratello_ (Italian) - Brother

 _Niente_ (Italian) - Nothing

* * *

I don't know if I really like this chapter but it's cool, still was interesting to write

Feel free to really get some deep meaning over the words the characters say or things they do cause I can't just explain what someone feels or you guys would get bored.

If anyone questions how everyone reacted or thinks the characters are OOC, would anyway want my view on their personalities or reactions and whatever? Should I do that anyway?

By the way, I think I'll make each event like this two chapters

Hope you enjoyed and look forward to more character angst


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: **Magic**

* * *

Francis was the last to get up after the group had blacked out in Ortona The main reason being that his hair had fallen onto his face and he somehow mistook his lack of vision for him still being asleep. Even after he managed to realize his mistake, he still thought he was dreaming.

All of the countries were back in the ridiculously hot and purple Italian conference room. Most assumed everything was a dream; Veneziano and Lovino hoped it just a dream. Everyone was still just worn out and trying to process what was going on. Yao thought he was too old for this.

No one discussed what had transpired and instead sluggishly got to their seats from their spots on the carpet.

"Please don't tell me that had something with ghosts," Alfred said first, surprisingly energetic despite the dark circles forming beneath his eyes. Lukas sent him a well deserved look from his spot at the back of the room near the flatscreen for presentations (which was sadly forgotten with the precarious situation they were in.)

"No America."

"Alfred, my man," he interjected.

"No... Alfred. As I said before, this is magic. Ancient magic." After that, he started mumbling to himself, "It seems the ancients have been tampering at hexes to do with alternate paradoxes and timelines. Or merely a spell drawing upon and displaying the manifestation of someone's subconscious recollections…," Alfred frowned; Arthur jumped on the table.

"Ha! I told you all! This _is_ magic. Just when all you wankers thought I was absurd and quite possibly bonkers!" His coat had been thrown off, and his hair was wilder than usual, if even that was possible. Lukas looked away and put a hand to cover his eyes from the British self-proclaimed gentleman.

"Please step down from the table England."

"Of course. Yes, yes… but I was still right all you soddy skeptics," he replied and did indeed slip down from the wooden table, almost falling onto Natalya. Before he got near, she had scooted close to her brother (a mortifying and terrifying action to the Russian) and pulled out three knives from who knows where. That happened a lot with the personifications.

"We understand how you feel," Lukas said soothingly, speaking for himself more than anyone else. "Now, has anyone seen the _ordbok_?" Toris raised a hand and gestured to his side of the table, where the large window was shining at his back and the door to his right a little ways away.

"I think there are some new words Mr. Norway," he said, because in in dark, even, red scripture was a page entirely in Italian with the date "December 28th, 1943" at the top.

No one felt the need to read it out loud; the few it concerned had already lived the entry.

"I think next time we read instead, _da_? No more silly surprises comrades," Ivan said enthusiastically. He gave a grin to the room, " _Davai_."

* * *

 _Ordbok_ (Norwegian) - Spellbook

 _Davai_ (Russian) - Good luck

* * *

Doesn't everyone just love authors stalling while they write all the important chapters?

Next up is Spain in the spotlight

Stay tuned


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: **The natives are...**

* * *

"Since z'ese proceedings are necessary and unpredictable, I believe I should take over now," Ludwig determined, leaving no room for discussion like always. He stood up to walk to the head of the room by the TV, uprooting Matthias and sending him away from the Nordics to sit in the German's old seat near Veneziano and Gilbert. Both nations were oddly distant right now, but Gilbert at least perked up when he saw who had sat down beside him. "Now, let us zee," Ludwig said, turning to the very first page of the book, order was important, and thereafter skipped the shifty authors' note to find a real page one.

All the nations prepared themselves, tensing for the possibility of some classified secret leaking or another strange dream-like phenomenon.

"It seems z'is one is in _Spanisch._ " Ludwig said after examining the bright red veering letters. He expected a groan from Lovino, but it never arrived, just multiple signs of relief. He continued, "Spain, would you care to read z'is?"

It wasn't really a question.

" _Por supuesto,_ _amigo_ ," the bubbly nation said, rising and walking towards him at an aggravatingly carefree pace. Unnoticeably on the way, he gulped nervously. You see, coming to the book was like stepping in front of a firing squad - voluntarily. He didn't know if the information he was about to read aloud would become ammunition used against him.

Perhaps luck was on his side in a way though, for as his hand traced the letters, they came off and stuck to it, looking like fake tattoos, making him unable to read a bit. And completely stupefied. Waving his hand around, he yelped and the letters fell to the floor and table instantly, sucking and looking like weird red decals on them. They enlarged into unreadable scarlet blobs in just the blink of an eyed everyone was left jumping on chairs and yelling at Antonio. Soon, their size was large enough to overtake their vision, encompassing into the red to black transition, and sending them further on their journey.

Next thing Antonio, and all the others, knew, they were enclosed by a canopy of bright, tropical trees. Their feet had hit worn and dusty dirt. It was green all around, but there were some long, vibrant flowers scattered on the ground. From somewhere else, a burning scent mixed violently with the humid air.

This time, there was no shock or confusion. The grim realization of being sent somewhere completely unknown sent a cardiac arrest-inducing shock through every nation. Not only that-

but they had to not only see, but relive their tragic, unbecoming, traumatizing pasts, right?

And who had done this? The majority did not fully believe this to be the result of magic, because magic was most definitely not real, so they were desperately trying to come up with a logical way that this was real. Was is Japan and some new technology? Russia and a hallucinant? Had America drugged them and brought them to come movie set-like place?

Since the book was in Spanish, they decided to gather around Antonio. "Was this you?" was the blunt accusation all of them were using. It got loud fast.

Ludwig, trying to silence everyone, yelled for order. He only managed to take the volume of their words down by a notch. Arthur then stepped forward and held his arm to stop the blonde from saying or getting into any more of an upset stupor. Next, he whistled, a high, glass shattering note, quieting the crowd immediately and maybe blowing a dew eardrums. With a smug smile, he left the rest to the ruffled German. "Yes, _danke_ Britain-"

"Geez, you guys are bad at letting loose. His name is Arthur," Alfred piped up. Ludwig didn't even glance at him and started explaining their situation. He had no care who was behind this, that could come later. Now they just needed to survive.

"Since it seems z'is is no joke, we will have to be more careful…," he said, and would have gone into a strict training and exploring doctrine to go by, if not for the silent group circling all sides of their own.

There were six of them, built solid and tall with bronzed skin. All were men with long primitive spears. And-

"They're all naked?!" Alfred shouted, startling the natives and making them press close. A few scoffed at his reaction and crept certainly closer to the American, though they did not understand his words. Some countries, like Belarus or Denmark, pulled out weapons like knives or axes. Ivan no doubt held his pipe excitedly.

Antonio frowned and stepped forward much to the protest of Lovino and Gilbert's unsaid pleas. The group's fighting stances grew less fierce, but still vigilant.

" _Nou vin di yo anyen. Nou vin pou komès_ ," he spoke. The threatening group altogether glaring suspiciously now, but one leader-looking figure with gold necklaces and fancy adornments merely cringed and replied, "S _wiv. Si ou trayi nou, tout moun mouri._ " Antonio nodded grimly and followed, leaving the group to follow him while being in the dark. There weapons were hidden loosely, but the nations allowed themselves to be ordered around; nothing came from fighting back in a situation like this.

They walked till their legs felt like they were made of hot iron; heavy and melting, burning. Ahead, the dark natives seemed unfazed and kept their brisk pace through the forest. No words had been spoken for fear of getting poked by one of those spears.

It wasn't until they broke the cover of flora did they realize how hot it was. The sun felt like it was cooking them, and Arthur mused it was despicably even warmer than Italy.

The whole situation gave Antonio the grim sensation of being drawn taught like a bow. A furious familiarity settled into his bones as he walked into the open area where the natives lived, peering with glassy eyes through the haze of heat. Not only that, his head hurt like nothing else right behind his forehead and on the sides where his hair was matted down with sweat. At the moment, he was just running on adrenaline; pure fear or thrill powered stuff, so nothing was working quite normally.

Although the village was small and mainly empty, the natives had taken them along the forest on a back path to get to their destination. They were forced to walk single file with the sun on one side and clawing bushes tearing at them on the other, but still no one said a peep. All the countries now left their fate into Antonio's hands; and would kill him if anything happened.

By the time they were just considering taking on the guards and knocking them out to escape, it had been a _long_ walk, they had reached the largest circular straw hut surrounding a central plaza and in the back away from the ocean. To Antonio, everything was sore and his heavy breathing hurt his chest with every inhale in. At least inside the room in the shade was a bit cooler. Just a bit.

In the room, the roof, coned-shaped and all straight layers of straw, lay a hammock and a few weapons and pieces of cloth. Towards the back was a man of great stature and deep color surrounded by no less than ten young girls.

Antonio, accompanied by all the nations, had the very violent urge to vomit suddenly. Alfred looked away swiftly while clenching his fists. He was joined by all the Nordics and Matthew and many in becoming quite uncomfortable and edging on reactive.

No one shrank back though, they had all been settlers and visitors (most of the time unwanted) enough to know not to attack their host. Antonio looked him square in the eye. Neither flinched nor moved, even while the girls fiddled with the chief's hair, or as sweat rained down his face in waterfalls. He mouthed the words " _kenbe yo an sekirite"_ and after only a few seconds, they were ushered out quickly from a wave of the chief's hand. All of it was just plain strange. And too fast.

Antonio was just thankful the chief had recognized him and was too preoccupied to ask any questions.

Next thing they knew, all of them were thrown into a hut in the back of the village and away from prying. Antonio was shoved roughly, knocking him sprawling to the ground and off his shaky legs. Gilbert almost punched the person who shoved him. Francis seemed in a stupor today and just replied with a single, vulgar word while his friend complained about the treatment. Many others complained loudly as well, but Felids had passed out before he could even start a rant.

Antonio was not angry at the native though, nor about what had happened.

"So, Antonio, what was _that_? Do you now where we are?" Elizaveta demanded, wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead once everyone c\had called their heads a bit. He nodded to both.

"We are in _Hispaniola mis compañeros_. _Y_ , if I am not wrong, it is _no bueno tiempo_ ," he said, not answering what happened with the chief, and poking around the space. Pulling out a jug from the corner, he smiled and took a swig of its contents. The stuff burned and tasted like burnt popcorn and lighter fluid, but it eased his headache and his memories of where they were. He kept drinking.

And not long after, there was a scream.

Kiku and Tino looked up sharply, Veneziano dropped the pot he was holding, and Antonio set down the liquor container slowly before stepping out. Francis was the only one who followed him.

Down to the left from the building they occupied, was the ocean, now filled with gigantic, grandiose ships. It was glimmering blue, like the sky on a cloudless day, and they only had to pass ten large huts before they came to the sand. The boats seemed wrong on the clear water.

But they never mad it down there, for the commotion was in the middle of the village, where there was a circular plaza, now crowded with new people. There stood a flurry of expensive clothed men and a native supported by the chief from earlier. The air was murderous, the tension supplied by predatory grins and angered brows.

The group of finely dressed Spaniards, for they were early Spanish people judging form their thick and rich dyed clothes with ruffles and sharp shoes, stood intimidatingly above a boy on the floor.

His hand was covered with red, two fingers were now laying on the ground near the leader of the Spaniards. It seemed like a horrifying painting because of the lack of movement, and the exaggeratedness of the Spaniards grotesque faces. At once the image was ripped to shreds as the leader smiled psychotically before doing the unthinkable; he stomped onto the fingers and ground them into the dust, the blood not even showing on his black boots. All the chief could do was watch, these Spaniards practically owned the natives; like slaves. His gold pendant weighed down like an anchor on his neck.

Antonio almost ran to help the boy. To hit down the sickening man and leave him and the rest of his crew as bloody as the boy's poor hand. He had envisioned doing that so, so many times before. But instead, he merely grit his teeth and walked to the forest.

This scene was not anything new to him.

The boys silent weeping could not reach his ears any longer.

Francis' worry only increased as Antonio smacked a tree hard with his fist for what seemed like the thousandth time after coming back into the forest. His mind was telling him the situation was personal, the forest unbearably hot and filled with bugs, and that he was not meant to be here. The tree gave a great shudder after the left fist shrunk, Francis followed suit. His eyes were dilated and wide open. All of Antonio's motions seemed animalistic; his body was hunched like a feline while his breathing was labored, showing his bared teeth, and his hands held like talons onto the trunk. Slowly and cautiously, Francis outstretched his hand to put on his friend's back.

The reaction was instantaneous. Antonio's body unhinged and he grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground and bending his arm over his back while he pinned him down. Still, Antonio did nothing more and just sat breathing heavy. Francis just laid there nervously and aching for his arm to be released. He didn't notice the tiny drips of water falling onto his back.

Unlike the previous exchange, Antonio got up in almost slow motion. There was a steady stream of tears going down his face and creating clear paths across his grimy cheeks.

" _Sale amigo,_ " he got out somehow even, letting Francis bolt away, ashamed but relieved.

* * *

 _Por supuesto, amigo_ (Spanish) - Of course, buddy

 _Danke_ (German) - Thank you

 _Nou vin di yo anyen. Nou vin pou komès_ (Haitan Creole) - We have been told nothing. We come to trade

S _wiv. Si ou trayi nou, tout muon mouri_ (Haitan Creole) - Follow. But if you betray us, you're dead

 _Kenbe yo an sekirite_ (Haitan Creole) - Keep them safe

 _Hispaniola mis compañeros (Spanish) - Hispaniola (it's a country) my companions_

 _No bueno tiempo_ (Spanish) - Not a good time

* * *

Hey guys, new chapter

I know everyone wants some America chapters, myself included, but we're getting there

I'll try to post as much as I can, but you'll have to go crazy with comments if you actually want these things on time ...I'm forgetful

Anyway hoped you liked it and look forward to the continuation


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: **What a nation is**

* * *

Antonio did not feel helpless or ashamed. No, there was nothing but fury boiling his blood. Deeply, like there was itch that you couldn't reach, couldn't find. But that was happening all over in a kind of hot madness. These small acts of inhumanity made him feel more disgusted than even during his time sailing on the seas as a pirate.

And at that time there were periods of pillaging and murder than elapsed into massacres and prolonged periods of torturing. He wasn't proud by any stretch, but at least he knew it was wrong.

Right now, his people weren't anything except wrong.

It hurt him, this kind of thing always hurt more than getting physically wounded. To a nation, material wounds would heal, but memories... memories never went away. No matter how much you wanted them to leave, the never left. Sometimes a country would forget, if they were lucky, until it was all brought back in one vicious swoop like this.

Antonio had almost forgotten.

He crouched and and slammed the ground. There was so, _so_ much pain in revisiting this time. He clutched his head and stared wide eyed into the dirt, wishing that the screams in his ears would stop, all the suffering cries of victims of the crews that landed on these shores. He doubted he would forget them again.

Today it would be almost the 1500s, maybe it was 1500 by now, when Christopher Columbus had sailed the ocean blue for India only to end up at America. Instead of America of course, he had hit Haiti though at this point.

And he had desecrated Haiti.

The Spanish had almost destroyed Haiti.

Now, a hot haze filled his head and made his head swell out, making his whole skull throb. There was black at the edge of his vision, but neither helped to calm the burn throughout his body. Tears never stopped calling while his body was ridden with thick shivers.

A mocking breeze went by, calmly shaking the trees while he crouched in a cage of heat and guilt. By now he could taste fire, smelling the burning scents from earlier.

He should go out and set those ships, all that had brought the disease-ridden, _menos que tierra_ , _atroz_ , explorers, on fire and watch it sink and party while they burned.

 _Si_ , _esupendo_! That was just what he would do.

The natives could actually live then. In happiness and safety, far from servitude while the Spanish perished. Did Antonio care for his people's deaths at this time?

 _Absolutamente la cogida no._

There was more to a nation than his people sometimes, and there were more people in a nation than you'd think. Throughout history, every country, empire even, had had a leader or groups they found deplorable.

And there wasn't a day that went by that they didn't think of getting rid of them.

Other times, people defined a nation, and changed one; the nation and the personification.

But just as that thought clicked into place, of red and broken hands and burning ships, and made his whole person feel full and satisfied with the thought, someone gently placed a hand on his figure. His head swung up, startling the person and sending them into the foliage.

"Fuck, you bastard! Maybe I shoudn't have come after all," Lovino grumbled. Antonio was shellshocked and his plan short wired looking at him.

"Wha, what are you doing here?" he mused. Wiping himself off, the brunette crossed his arms.

"I guess I'll just fucking leave."

"No! No. Please, don't go," Antonio stopped him and let out a shaky breath. He collapsed onto his back on the ground. His arm went to cover his eyes from the light, but it was already turning dark. "I hate them," he said forcefully.

Lovino's face twisted. "I can just leave your shitty ass alone."

"Not you," Antonio corrected. He sighed. "Just all those leaders _y mierdas despreciable_ ," His voice picked up and sped up at the end as it changed to Spanish. "They are not me," he said to convince Lovino. "There are not me," he said softly, to convince himself.

Lovino did not acknowledge him but replied quietly, "None of us are."

Not that it would get through to him. Instead, he let Antonio's head fall onto his chest with minimal profanities and complaints. He was only this kind because the whole thing screamed similarities when compared to the earth-shattering and world-changing situation that he had been forced through earlier. And really to everything he had felt at one point or another.

Holding him, as he sat silently on his knees, Lovino gave a deep, thoughtful sigh and left them with the words, " _Que sera, sera_."

Walking back to the group was a silent affair.

* * *

 _Menos que tierra_ , _atroz_ (Spanish) - Less than dirt, atrocious

 _Si_ , _estupendo_ (Spanish) - Yes, great

 _Absolutamente la cogida no_ (Spanish) - Absolutely the fuck not

 _Y mierdas despreciable_ (Spanish) - And despicable shit

 _Que sera, sera_ (Spanish) - What will be, will be

* * *

This a more general chapter, something I think all the nations deal with, ya know?

By the way, Spain is so... outspoken because he had alcohol (and if you know Hetalia specifics, Spain gets super scary when he drinks)

Awww but isn't Spain still so nice

If you're Spanish and I offended you either with the history or the terrible translations, just remember this is for fun. Anything that has happened in the past is done

Thanks and comment who you wanna learn about next


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